


twentyfive

by mhunter10



Series: fic!february (28 day challenge) [16]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Fic!February, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:24:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mhunter10/pseuds/mhunter10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"twentyfive gets you a dance" ian said<br/>and then we all died inside....</p>
            </blockquote>





	twentyfive

“Twentyfive bucks gets you a dance,” Ian says with nothing in his eyes or voice. He notices Mickey's eyes flick to take him in, and he can feel the feathers tickling at his skin and the too-tight shorts riding up his crack. He takes his eyes away before he can see Mickey's face change into something he doesn't want to see.  
“I didn't come here for you,” Mickey says, realizing the words that just came out of his mouth. It wasn't exactly what he'd meant to say, because he was in fact there for him in a way. Ian isn't looking at him, but he sees him break for a second when the words hit him too.  
“Then I need to get back to the people that did,” he says coldly, paying far too much attention to what was going on across the club, but really he wasn't even seeing past his own nose. He was mad at himself for letting the boy get to him this way. It had already been a long night that he didn't need getting longer on account of old shit. He wanted to walk away then, like he had months ago because that was all he could do, but he wasn't expecting what Mickey said next.  
“You need to call your family,” Mickey yelled over the music, while still sounding a mixture of annoyed and...concerned?  
Ian's facade fell immediately. His eyes finally shot to Mickey's, as guilt washed over him. Here he was thinking Mickey only came to find him for one thing, thinking nothing had changed.  
But Mickey wasn't angry at him. He wasn't telling him off for what happened between them. He was telling him what he needed to hear in the only way he knew he would listen.  
His family.  
Something was wrong at home.  
He needed to call them.  
Ian sees in Mickey's eyes that he realizes what the decision to go that route means.  
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mickey asks, breaking it all, just like that.  
It's not as easy to seem indifferent now, but Ian manages and crosses his arms.  
“Working,” he grits.  
“You call dancing around in that working?” And Mickey can't say that he's really criticizing because it definitely works on him. All the times he imagined his body in his mind hadn't prepared him for how different it looked now. Ian looked different. He still had the same frame and muscular build, but was taller if that was even still possible for his age. And his hair...it could have just been the lights, but it seemed redder than before, like it was actually on fire. Ian had worn semi-tight clothes before, but what he was in now was even tighter, pulling attention to his pale smooth skin and hard defined lines. It was almost painful to take his eyes away to get his point across.  
Ian scoffed and shook his head, that faraway look back in his eyes. “I probably make more than your wife in two hours, and I keep most of my clothes on.”  
Damn.  
That sounded harsh even to Ian's ears, but he stood his ground.  
He really wanted another drink, but he was only allowed the one before his shift started. They weren't allowed to drink when they were making the rounds, but that usually didn't stop him from being on something else. It was the only way to get through it. Now he was actively scanning the room for someone, anyone with a hook-up that could have him smiling and boosting out of his skin.  
Guys liked him better when he was touching the ceiling.  
Or maybe it was because they were up there with him.  
He thought digging into Mickey would make him feel something, but it didn't. It sucked everything out of him. He hardly really felt anything these days. Seeing Mickey had actually made something spark in him for the first time in a while.  
Mickey doesn't respond to the comment, mostly because he was too lost in how disheveled and strung-out Ian looked. If he looked close enough, he could see how shaky the line of black was under his eyes. Even still he looked tired, like he probably hadn't slept right in weeks...or months.  
Mickey leaned in, stern look on his face. “Gallagher--”  
“Look, unless you want a dance, I can't talk to you right now. I have to get back to work.” Ian hadn't meant it to sound like a stipulation or an ultimatum or whatever...at least he'd hoped it didn't sound that way. He couldn't help but scan his eyes down Mickey now, from his hair parted down the middle and slightly messy, to the crisp black collar at his neck that he'd never seen before. He was filling it to, all pecks and shoulders. His eyes were piercingly blue in the strobes of the club. Ian didn't know what he was doing.   
It only took Mickey another beat to figure it out.  
“Fine.” He shoved his hands in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, fishing out two tens and a five. He held the cash up between two fingers, raising his eyebrow, before handing it over.  
Their fingers brushed, and the electricity that passed between them could have short-circuited the entire building, leaving them standing there in pitch black but still knowing exactly where the other was.  
Ian checked the money just to have something to do with himself. He turned and started walking through the crowd, weaving around guys. It was like he was parting the sea to salvation.  
Mickey followed close behind him, keeping his head down. His eyes stayed on Ian, not wanting to lose him, but mostly to take in just how tight those shorts were and the way the leather accents on his tank caught the colors in the place. When they stopped at an empty couch, Ian took him by the shoulders and shoved him down, leaning over and spreading his legs apart.  
“Do you want a drink?” Ian asked, not really making eye contact, as he started to rub the other boy's thighs.  
“What?” Mickey couldn't concentrate. Ian was literally closer than he'd been for months, and everything in his mind was going off like bombs exploding. His breathing had already picked up, and his eyes darted everywhere out of habit.  
“I have to ask. Do you?” Ian stared at him, seeing how nervous and out of it he was. He could feel him practically shaking, but it could have been him as well.  
Mickey shook his head, finally able to meet Ian's green eyes. He didn't know how he felt about being treated like the guy who had been before him, like a customer. There was no way Ian was trying to play this like that's all it was.  
Ian stood up and started moving to the music, touching himself and shaking his hips to the beat.  
He felt so uncoordinated all of a sudden, like he couldn't make his limbs do what he wanted them to.  
But there he was, running his hands through his hair and flexing his muscles in front of the boy he'd couldn't stop thinking about since he'd left. He moved forward slowly and put his knees on the couch on either side of Mickey's legs, and lowered himself down until he was barely touching his lap; a tease he knew drove some guys crazy.  
But something about the way Mickey was watching him, made him sink all the way down. He watched as his breath caught in his throat, making his mouth open slightly.  
God.  
It was happening all over again.  
Mickey licked his lips, his eyes hooded. He had been feeling slightly wrong about where he'd ended up when he'd come here to do a job, but now that Ian was rolling his hips in his lap, he figured it didn't exactly matter how he got it done. His fingers itched to get at where they'd wanted to be for so long.  
Ian noticed, smiling slightly.  
“You can touch me...if you want,” he said just loud enough to be over the music, but to still keep it between he and Mickey.  
Mickey was hesitant at first, looking around at all the clubbers and other men getting lapdances from guys who were probably trying way too hard.  
But Ian was perfect.  
He felt jealous thinking about Ian doing this for anyone else, especially for money.  
Especially since there was clearly something that had gone totally wrong with him.  
He could see it on his face, as he moved on top of him so skillfully, it was scary.  
He felt bad.  
He felt horny.  
Ian could feel Mickey pressing against him, and he didn't even try to not press back. Mickey's fingers were trailing lightly on his thighs, heating his skin and sending tingles down his spine. He couldn't even hear the music anymore, he was just moving on autopilot; his body already familiar with the one under him and what it took to get it excited. He leaned back and reached for the bottom of his shirt, sliding his tank over his head along with the boa and tossing them on the couch. Mickey's hands went to his waist, as he stretched back, giving him full view of his abs. He came back up and scooted forward more, spreading his legs wider around Mickey and touching their crotches together. He bounced up and down a few times, seeing Mickey struggle to keep his eyes open and biting his lip.  
Mickey couldn't think straight...  
Jesus, it wasn't even funny, he was so turned on. He wasn't used to this at all.  
He wished they were alone instead of surrounded by all the chaos of the club.  
Mickey noticed an older man sitting on an opposite couch watching Ian, and he glared at him. He couldn't help it. It made him grip his ass and pull him closer, creating a friction between them that made Ian make a noise he obviously hadn't wanted to let out.  
Ian ran his hands all the way up Mickey's chest and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, opening the flaps and exposing his flushes skin. He wrapped his arms around Mickey's neck and got close to his ear, breathing hotly in it.  
“What do you know?”  
It took Mickey a while to register the question, he was so busy trying not to come just from touching Ian's back muscles. He shook his head to get some clarity from the fog that was Ian Gallagher grinding down on him.  
“Lip talked to Mandy, said something about your brother being in the hospital,”  
Ian's movements faltered, “Who, Carl?”  
Mickey shook his head, letting his hands rest on Ian's sides. “The younger one..”  
Ian froze and moved away, looking at Mickey directly. “Liam? Something happened to Liam? What happened?” His voice was frantic, panic rising in him. His eyes darted all over Mickey's face to gauge what he could from it.  
Mickey shrugged, feeling like an idiot for thinking he could say this type of shit here. He'd walked in thinking all he'd have to do was tell him to call, but he didn't think he could stand the look of pure dread on his face. He wished he knew more, but Mandy had been so caught up in blaming him for something he already knew, that she'd skipped on the details.  
“Call them,” was all he could say. Now that they weren't so distracted by whatever had just been happening between them, everything was serious again. He could feel Ian tense up in his lap. Confusion and guilt and so many other emotions flashed on his face, as they stared at each other.  
It seemed to be unspoken that now was not the time for this.  
Soon, but not now.  
Instinctively, Mickey took his hands away and let Ian get up. Ian grabbed his shirt and stood there for a moment looking lost.  
He didn't know what to do next.  
He knew he needed to get home and find out what was happening there, but he wasn't sure he wanted to.  
He wasn't ready to.  
Mickey seemed to pick up on his dilemma, coming closer and putting his hand on his shoulder to get his attention.  
“Meet me outside in ten,” Mickey said, making sure Ian heard him; making sure he knew that he wasn't alone in this.  
Ian snapped out of it and nodded, clutching his shirt to his chest and searching for reassurance in Mickey's eyes.  
He found it in the way he squeezed his shoulder and looked at him with so much care that it hurt him to think who else had suffered from his recklessness.  
Mickey looked just as tired as he felt.  
But he was there.  
He'd come to find him in a place he wouldn't be caught dead in, and he definitely would have been dead if he'd been caught in a place like this.  
He felt stupid for the way he'd acted before.  
He felt stupid for a lot of things.  
“Thank you,” he finally was able to say. He knew it didn't make up for anything, but he wanted him to know he was grateful for someone finally telling him what he needed to hear.  
Mickey looked at him one last time, before turning and making his way back out of the club.


End file.
